


Heat or Ice

by WhiteLadyoftheRing



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Case Fic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/pseuds/WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: [Post-S2] While Jack is still recovering from being shot, he and Peggy attend an event full of Arena Club members in an attempt to find whoever ordered him killed. Meanwhile, Peggy is in denial that maybe there was something to that M. Carter file after all.





	Heat or Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vita_sine_fantasy_mors_est](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vita_sine_fantasy_mors_est/gifts).



> I decided to try my hand at something closer to casefic this time. It isn't exactly my forte, but I hope it scratches the itch! 
> 
> (I tried very hard to be mild with the angst. What angst is here is not relationship-based angst, so I hope that's okay!)

This is a terrible idea. 

It isn't the first terrible idea any of them have ever had, and honestly, it's a step above Jack's half-cocked plan to blow Whitney Frost (and Vernon, and Jason) to kingdom come, and two above Peggy's own scheme to use Dottie as an undercover agent, however low a bar that may be. Unfortunately, they don't have many options – not with Jack playing dumb to the remains of the Council and the Arena Club, and not when their circle of trust at the SSR goes only so far as the three of them, Rose, and (much to Daniel's chagrin) Dr. Samberly. 

As if reading her mind, Daniel's voice buzzes tinnily over the radio transmitter hidden in her hair clip.  _"I don't like this."_  

"Neither do I," she murmurs. "Unfortunately, it's a little late to be having second thoughts." 

Jack pulls the car up to the waiting valet attendant. The car is Howard's, of course. The SSR budget hasn't the money for off the books operations that could very well send the agency itself tumbling into ruin. Idly, Peggy thinks that everything would be so much easier if they were always bankrolled by Howard, without having to bow to the ever-changing and ever-unproductive whims of Congress to get things done. 

An attendant opens her door and offers his hand, which she pointedly ignores as she climbs out of the car and smooths down the front of her dress. 

"Subtle." Jack offers his arm, smiling in that way that makes him so good at what he does; the patented Jack Thompson façade in full force for the evening's festivities. "Remember, we're trying to keep a  _low profile_. But I know that isn't really your style." 

Peggy ignores the jab – he'll pay for it later, assuming they don't make a blunder of the whole operation. "There is nothing low profile about your first public appearance since narrowly escaping death." Her words are low, hidden behind a smile as she slips her hand into the crook of Jack's elbow. 

"Public appearance? When you put it like that you make me sound like a regular Hollywood movie star-" 

 " _Particularly_  amongst a crowd that most likely ordered the hit on you in the first place." 

Jack flashes his dazzling smile to a young blonde on the arm of a much older gentleman as they pass. "Marge, if they wanted me dead, they would have hired a better hitman." 

_"And this is why this was a terrible idea. You two aren't even inside_ _the building_ _and you're already bickering."_  

"We're fine." When Peggy glances up to Jack, she can see that there's a thread of concentrated sobriety beneath his lofty veneer. He covers her hand with his own. "Right. Let's get this over with, shall we?" 

. 

If there's one thing Daniel dislikes more than the mission itself, it's hanging back in the van babysitting the radio to make sure any incriminating conversations are recorded. Of course he understands  _why_  it had to be Jack and Peggy – or, at the very least, Jack, and given his health since being shot, they were  _not_  sending him in without backup – but it does little to stop the anxiety gnawing at him from the inside out. 

They all agreed that this was a terrible idea, but the alternatives weren't much better. Unless Jack wanted to live the rest of his life with a target painted on his back, they had no choice but to chase this to the end, no matter the risks. 

Doesn't mean Daniel has to like it. 

Beside him, the radio crackles with the ambient gossip and laughter of a political summit, interrupted periodically by Peggy and Jack making calculated conversation with whichever acquaintance of Jack's they 'happen' to bump into.  

_"Hey Marge, this is the man I was telling you about._ _Mr. Crenshaw from the_ Investigator _._   _Hey Bob, meet my new 'assistant' Margene."_  

_"Mr. Crenshaw!"_ (Daniel always does a double take when Peggy puts on her over the top American accent. He sometimes wonders how many times it's been the last thing a guy's heard before being pummeled over the head with the nearest blunt object.) _"What a pleasure. Jack here has said so many wonderful things about you."_  

The act is nearly flawless. They were good together – no matter what they'd tell you – even back when they were always half a second away from biting each other's heads off; their little competition making them both just that much better. And now? Well, now it isn't really an act. 

. 

Jack smiles and waves as the older man and his much younger date pass by to mingle deeper inside the lodge. "That's not our guy." 

"How can you be so sure?" 

" 'Cause old Bob's been a few shots short of a bottle for over ten years now, if you catch my drift. He may like his girls young and blonde, but he's not involved in any deep, dark conspiracy." The bartender delivers their glasses of whiskey, and Jack takes a long drink. "Nephew's the one actually running the paper these days. Young, ambitious … a fast track ticket to the top might just be something he'd buy into." 

"Sounds familiar." Peggy still enjoys taking jabs at him when she can, although these days there's more amusement than poison to her words. (For the record, however, she still finds Jack to be thoroughly exhausting and completely insufferable; her newfound endearment to him does not in any way preclude him from the urge to smack him upside the head.) "But is he our man?" 

Jack shrugs, then tilts back his glass to finish off his whiskey all at once. "Maybe. Look, Carter, we don't even know if Vernon's crowd were the ones who the hit on me in the first place." He casts her a pointed look, one eyebrow arched. "I know you've got a hunch--" 

"And my 'hunches' are often right." 

" -- but that doesn't mean there's not more going on here." 

He's right, and she hates that he's right. As impartial as she tries to be, some things are too terrible to imagine – not until all alternatives have been ruled out. They've spent weeks on end arguing over the possibility that the  _M. Carter_  file with which he'd tried to blackmail her hadn't been a fake at all, that maybe it belonged to some other M. Carter. 

A  _particular_  M. Carter, presumed dead at the time of the war crimes in question. 

However outlandish the odds, the very idea terrifies her. It would be much easier to assume that one of Vernon Masters' compatriots had figured them out, proceeded to remove Jack (or at least scare him into quiet compliance), and collected the file in case she'd give them any cause for blackmailing in the future. It's by far a simpler explanation, she tells herself. Elegant. Occam's razor. 

She tips back her own drink, steeling herself for the rest of the evening. "Regardless, I'm sure we haven't seen the last of the Council by far. We'd best get to work." 

. 

_"Mr. a_ _nd Mrs. Hardison! How lovely to meet you."_  

Nothing, Daniel thinks. So far, at least. 

He winces, stretching out his good leg as the muscles spasm; he's been compensating too much for the soreness in his stump. While he and Peggy spent the better part of the past two months alternately playing bodyguard and nursemaid to Jack, Stark had whipped up a couple prototype prosthetics in his lab. The designs were certainly more functional than the one Daniel had been using but adjusting to them was not exactly painless. 

Neither was the  _other_  set of adjustments going on in his life. 

Somehow, over the span of just two months, he managed to lose one significant other and pick up  _two more_  in her place. Peggy wasn't much of a surprise – the tension between them had been unbearable from the minute she set foot into the office of the west coast SSR – but Jack? Jack came straight out of left field for the both of them. 

_"Marg_ _i_ _e here_ _is really getting the hang of my filing system. It just took a while to get that alphabet down, right Marge?"_  

Case in point. 

The reality is that somewhere between the sheer terror that the bastard might actually  _not_  be too stubborn to die, and covertly tracing the origins of the mysterious  _M. Carter_  file, Daniel and Peggy realized that Jack filled some previously unseen gap in their budding relationship. (When they weren't resisting the urge to strangle him, that is.) And he must have felt the same way, because one morning Daniel woke up to discover that his twosome had morphed into a threesome. 

They talked about it – once – because surprisingly, there wasn't much to say; they were all more or less on the same page for the time being, and they had far more pressing matters to discuss. 

_M. Carter_.

The file was something they had a much harder time agreeing on. Daniel proposed a theory; a wild, incoherent theory bordering on conspiracy, but really, isn't that just par for the course for them? Their entire careers hinged on the presence of conspiracies and secret societies. But at the suggestion that her supposedly-dead brother might be at the center of one, Peggy drew a line. 

Her brother was dead. Full stop. The file was a hoax, planted by someone connected to the Arena Club; someone who had also ordered the hit on Jack. 

While just as likely, Daniel isn't convinced. And he knows Jack isn't either. While Peggy's theory is definitely  _possible_ , Daniel can't help but feel that the whole situation is too elaborate, too specific to be tied only to their meddling in the Arena Club's affairs. There's something about that damn file that is somehow more important than the fact that they played a part in Vernon's death.

Or maybe, Michael Carter was wrapped up in this Council and Arena Club business himself. Perhaps by choice; perhaps not.

As the night goes on, Peggy and Jack plant more bugs, make more small talk, and nothing raises a red flag. There's some talk of the disappearances - Vernon and Chadwick and the others - but no suspicion raised at Jack's presence. If someone from the Council wanted Jack dead, that someone was clearly not in attendance tonight.

And Daniel's conspiracy seems more and more likely.

. 

Peggy bids Mr. And Mrs. Littman farewell, making a mental note that Mrs. Littman seems to be the more calculating one of the two, and that Mr. Littman is more than likely having at least two affairs behind her back. "Dreadful people," she comments to Jack, keeping her tone and expression as cheerful as when they walked in the door. 

"Aren't they all?" Jack deadpans, then takes one sharp, wheezing breath. "Can we take a break?" 

Peggy frowns, then swiftly conceals her worry as she guides them toward a table near the bar. "I knew you weren't ready for this," she chides. 

"I just need a minute." 

He slumps into his chair, and she slides in beside him. It still amazes her how much he's opened up in these past months. Before he was shot – before  _them_  - she could never imagine Jack Thompson asking to take a break, even if trudging on could kill him. 

His fingertips glide down the inside of her arm, brushing over her palm before his fingers lace with hers. The nature of their relationship has necessitated a focus on privacy, but with her attending as his date, they can afford some stolen intimacy. 

"We're getting nowhere, Marge. Not a single person has been surprised to see that I'm still alive." 

_"Nothing from any of the bugs either,"_ Daniel adds.  _"Most I've got is Clive Harrison telling his mistress that Jack is a 'kiss-ass'. Direct quote."_  

Jack ignores that second comment. "Whoever ordered the hit on me isn't here. I think it may be time to consider other angles." 

Peggy never likes to admit defeat, but given the luck they've been having, she can't help but agree. "The Council are still involved somehow, I just know it. We've only run into low-level bureaucrats here; no one with any real power. The Council – or what's left of them at any rate – must still be in hiding." 

Jack winces again, cursing under his breath as he presses a hand against his sternum. While he's been growing stronger each day, Peggy knows that even modest physical activity can cause him pain. The damage to his lung had been non-fatal, but substantial nonetheless. 

"We'll just have to come up with a better plan," she decides. "Or try again at a different event. Something more high profile." Jack nods in agreement, and Peggy sees his golden boy façade begin to fall. They've been at this for nearly two hours, and his ability to push through the pain and fatigue is clearly failing. "Let's go home." 

. 

In the end, they don't make it all the way to Daniel's house. After dropping the car off, the plush accommodations of Howard's guest house (and moreover the close proximity) are too inviting to pass up. Officially, Peggy still lives here. In actuality, the three of them spread their time somewhat equally between Howard's and Daniel's – Daniel hates intruding, but Jack prefers that Anna was a better cook than the three of them combined. 

Daniel watches as Peggy dresses for bed and pins up her hair, while Jack dozes next to him, drugged with pain medication and tucked into the curve of Daniel's side. By the set of her jaw, he knows that Peggy is frustrated, that she was hoping to find answers today only to hit a dead end. Though he isn't willing to say so – isn't willing to bring up the  _other M._ _Carter_ debate again; not tonight – Daniel isn't quite as disheartened. They managed to eliminate a lot of options today. Slowly, they're making progress. 

Peggy breaks the silence. "Heat or ice?" 

"What?" 

"Your leg," she says patiently. "I saw the way you were limping earlier. It's the new prosthesis again, isn't it?" 

"Yeah," he admits. "I've been compensating with my good leg a little too much. Feels like I've just run a marathon." 

"Heat, then," she decides, and pads off in the direction of the kitchenette. 

In the time that she's gone, Daniel begins to doze off, only opening his eyes when she presses a kiss to his temple and lifts the covers enough to tuck a hot water bottle against his thigh. "Better?" She grabs an extra pillow from the sideboard as well and uses it to help support his injured leg.  

He nods, letting the heat begin its work on his tense muscles. "Thank you." 

A moment later, he feels the bed shift as Peggy climbs in on the other side of Jack. Daniel watches as she brushes Jack's hair from his face, her expression pensive. "What are you thinking about?" he asks softly. 

She's quiet for a moment, still methodically tracing her fingertips along Jack's skin. "What if it really is Michael? What if he's been alive all this time? What if he-?" She stops short at that, as if saying it might make it real. That maybe her brother was the one who shot Jack. "I know him, Daniel. He would never do the things in that horrible file. He would never align himself with the Council. But with all we've seen –" 

Fennhoff. Midnight Oil. Zero Matter. In the past two years, they've come across so many things that could make a person's actions not their own. "If it's him, then we'll find him. And if we can, we'll help him." 

Over Jack's shoulder, her eyes meet his. "And if we can't?" 

Daniel reaches across Jack, pressing his hand against her arm. "Then we'll find a way," he promises. "We'll find someone who can."

Between them, Jack lets out a deafening snore.

Peggy and Daniel both laugh at that, the ominous tone of their previous gone.

"I wish we were recording this," she says.

"That could be arranged," Daniel replies devilishly. "Maybe then he'll finally stop complaining about  _your_ snoring. He's _much_  worse."

Peggy looks downright scandalized at that. "I do  _not_  snore!"

"Of course not," Daniel replies, in a tone that makes it clear that she most definitely does. "Turn out the light. It's been a long day."

She reaches over to the nightstand and flicks off the lamp. "I do not snore," she says again.

"Of course not, Peg."

 


End file.
